


Convention

by Speightlover



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-13
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2018-05-20 04:05:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5991165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Speightlover/pseuds/Speightlover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens when you meet the writer of the Supernatural books at a convention that you weren't even attending.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Convention

**Author's Note:**

> So I didn't say Chuck wasn't God but this obviously is around season 4 or 5 well let's just say this doesn't follow any proper timeline. I don't even know what happened with this story I was just practicing for something bigger and better. Hope you enjoy

You were in the room of the hotel you were staying at for a business trip. You were annoyed at the fact that you even had to weigh the pros and cons of going down to the bar to drink. There was some kind of convention going on in the hotel for a series of books and last night while down in the bar five different guys all dressed in the same attire kept hitting on you. 

After several more minutes of debate you figured the vodka was worth it. You opened the doors to the hotel’s bar and noticed it was pretty full; however you did notice one stool available at the edge of the bar and quickly sat before someone else could take it. 

You took in the man you sat next to noticing that he wasn’t dressed in the leather jacket and biker boots like the other men that were part of the convention. You wondered if maybe he wasn’t part of it just like you. You then noticed his tired and what looked to be annoyed appearance. 

A tap on your shoulder brought you out of your thoughts.

“Hi there cutie,” said a man who looked to be nineteen.

“No thank you,” you replied as nicely as possible.

“But-“

“I said no thank you.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to say,” the teen tried to rebuttal.

“Yes I do and I said no thank you,” you said a bit more sternly now, clearly showing annoyance.

He once more went to speak and once again you were going to cut him off when someone else spoke instead. “You dress like Dean but you aren’t Dean. If you were then you would’ve accepted her decline of your offer to have mediocre sex with you after the first no,” the stranger next to you said.

“Oh, Sir, I am so sorry,” he said noticing the stranger for the first time.

“Don’t apologize to me. Apologize to the poor woman you have been harassing.” The stranger took a drink of his beer. 

“I am sorry,” the boy pretending to be a Dean whispered obviously embarrassed.

“Thanks,” you said to the man. “Are you part of this convention?” you asked.

“Sort of,” he replied finishing off his beer. He waved to the bartender.

“Another beer?”

“Make it a whiskey and bring this girl another of whatever she wants.”

“Thanks but you don’t need to do that.”

“I insist, plus I feel as if that was my fault.”

The bartender handed you your drink.

“How is any of this your fault?”

“I wrote the books,” he answered, but sounded broken not proud like most authors.

“Do you not like your books?”

“It’s caused more problems than I care to admit.”

“I can see how it can be an issue,” you flicked your gaze over to the convention attendees.

“Yea,” he replied but sounding as if that wasn’t the entire story. “I should get going. I have an early morning,” the author stood and walked away.

You went to bed that night but couldn’t fall asleep just laid there thinking about the timid stranger that bought you a drink tonight. He had the face of someone that has been through some serious shit. 

The next night you went to the bar in hopes of seeing him once again. You weren’t quite sure why. You reached the bar and scanned the room but didn’t see him. You felt your hopeful smile fall into a frown. You sat in the same seat you were in yesterday.

Twenty minutes later and your second vodka martini you hear a small commotion from the entrance of the hotel bar. You turned to see what was going on and there was the man from yesterday, with him followed a blonde female. 

“Becky, I cannot and will not tell you where Sam Winchester is. Haven’t you caused him enough trouble?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” the girl feigned innocence but looked guilty and crazy as hell.

“The love potion,” he exclaimed in a strained hush.

“That was one time and I already apologized for that,” she defended herself.

“Give it up Becky and please leave me alone, this week has already been stressful enough,” the author pleaded weakly.

The girl named Beck stormed off, clearly unhappy with the answer that was given. You saw him take a deep breath and walk towards the bar. You quickly turned around not wanting to be caught staring. 

The only empty seat was next to you and that is where he sat, he took another deep breath and waved down the bartender. 

“Another rough night?” You asked.

“Yes. Rough night, day, week, life, it’s whatever at this point.”

You both bought another round and started talking about you jobs.

“My name is Chuck by the way but the name on the books is Carver.”

“Nice to meet you Chuck, I’m Y/N,” you smiled at him.

You were surprised when he gave a genuine smile back.

A couple drinks later you were laughing, joking, and just a bit tipsy.

“As much fun as this has been, I should probably be going to bed,” you giggled.

You hopped of the stool almost falling over in the process.

“Maybe I should help you,” Chuck smiled.

“That maybe a good idea,” you replied blankly still trying to stand straight and keep your balance.

He got off the stool, stumbled a bit, and then grabbed your arm to steady the two of you.

You once again giggled, “I think you are just as drunk as me.”

“No I can…” he trailed off and then hiccuped, “I can hold my liquor.”

It took the two of you ten minutes to find the elevator and another five to get your key to work in the door. The two of you didn’t realize that Chuck wasn’t supposed to follow you into the room. He helped you to the bed but fell over, landing next to you.

“This is the most fun that I’ve had in a while,” he whispered.

You fell asleep not even caring that there was a man you had only known for two days in your bed.

You awoke the next morning extremely warm and with a slight headache. You soon realized the warmth was coming from a man whose arm was wrapped tightly around your waist.

You did your best to remember what happened the night before, only remembering the conversation at the bar. You noticed you were both dressed and sighed in relief. You never were a fan of one night stands. You pulled yourself away careful not to wake up Chuck and decided to shower. 

Getting out of the shower you noticed Chuck was gone but in his place was a note written on the hotel’s stationary.

 

Y/N,   
Sorry I couldn’t stay; I have some business to take care of even though the convention is over.   
If you can meet me at the bar tonight at 9 p.m., that is if you want.   
-Chuck

 

You smiled, fully intending to meet him. 

It was eight o’clock and you just got back from a late night meeting. You were trying to hurry to make yourself more presentable for your date. You instantly stopped what you were doing to chastise yourself. This was not a date, at least you didn’t think it was. No matter what you wanted to look good.

“I hope this is a date,” you whispered to no one. 

After changing and touching up your make-up, you rushed down to the bar, only running five minutes late. You sat in your usual seat while you waited for Chuck to show up. Fifteen minutes passed and he still didn’t show up. You took the last swig of your drink and stood to leave. 

On your way out the door a man in a leather jacket grabbed your arm. Hurt and a bit pissed off you had been stood up, you weren’t in the best mood for another convention attendee.

“What do you want? Isn’t the convention over?” You snapped at the man.

“Hey lady, we were sent by Chuck. My name is Dean and this is my brother Sam,” said the man claiming to be a fictional character.

“Sam and Dean aren’t real, get out of fantasy land,” you scoffed. 

“Y/N, I am sorry but we don’t have time for this,” said the tallest man you had ever seen.

He started dragging you out of the bar towards the exit of the hotel.

“How do you know my name? Let go of me you psychos!”

“Y/N, please trust us. We are real, Chuck sent us, and you are in danger. We promise to fill you in more when we get you somewhere safe,” Dean pleaded. 

Something in their eyes told you to listen.

“Sam and Dean, of course you would be here,” a new voice spoke behind the three of you.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean cursed. 

“You must be Y/N. My name is Zachariah.”

You saw Dean and Sam pull out what looked to be tiny swords.

“Put those away boys. I won’t hurt the prophets little girlfriend. I just have a message for her,” he gave a sinister smile.

“What would that be?” you snarled.

“Oh dear child, I wouldn’t use that tone with me. Just a simple thing really, just stay away from the prophet or we will make you stay away,” he smiled and then disappeared. 

“Come on Y/N, let’s go,” Sam spoke, concern clearly showing on his face. 

Soon you were arriving at a run-down house. “I am not going in there,” you exclaimed.

“Chuck is in there and it’s warded against your new friend,” Dean smiled.

“Fine, I want an explanation. Then I am going home,” you informed them. You walked into the house to be rushed by Chuck.

“Y/N, thank God you’re safe.”

“Can someone please tell me why I am in danger in the first place?”

“You are with the prophet Chuck and the angels want you dead,” a stranger in a trench coat said as if it were nothing new.

“Well, don’t sugar-coat it,” Dean scoffed.

“I don’t understand, Chuck and I have only known each other for a couple days. Why do angels want me dead? Why are you calling Chuck a prophet? How is any of this real?” 

You couldn’t stop the onslaught of questions. 

“Chuck, maybe you should explain,” Dean advised.

“Uh yeah sure,” Chuck mumbled. “Well y-you see, I-I am a prophet. I, uh, see things that happen to uh, the Winchesters and my-myself and it is possible I saw s-s-something with you.”

“What my articulate friend here is trying to say is that he can see the future and writes for God. He also knows that something is going to happen with the two of you,” Dean winked, “and that is putting you in danger.”

You looked to Chuck for confirmation that what Dean said was the truth. Chuck just nodded.

“Why does me having,” you coughed, “a future with you put me into danger?”

“When prophets finally meet their soulmate they can no longer see the visions. It’s God’s way of giving his followers and tools happiness. However if you are dead they can use Chuck for their personal use,” the trench-coated man spoke bluntly again.

“Y/N, this is Castiel, he is an angel and has no filter,” Sam informed.

“One of the good guys,” Dean quickly added. 

“So what am I going to do? I’m sure it isn’t easy hiding from angels.”

“I can help with that,” Castiel said placing his hands on your ribs, “but it is going to hurt.”

You let out a small scream; it felt like hot molten lava was running between your ribs. Castiel then removed his hands and you fell to your knees, feeling weak. 

Chuck was instantly at your said helping to pick you up.

“What the hell was that?” you demanded. 

“Enochian warding, hurts like a bitch but works,” Dean answered. 

“We have to run a few errands but we will be back shortly,” Sam announced. 

Soon it was just you and Chuck; you took a deep breath and sat down onto the couch. You looked up into Chuck’s eyes, “What am I going to do?”

Chuck sat down next to you and took your hand into his, “I don’t know but we will figure it out together,” he smiled warmly at you.


End file.
